


In The Room Where You Sleep

by Morpheus626



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:14:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27579676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morpheus626/pseuds/Morpheus626
Summary: Me: Doesn’t exactly love or hate my sleep paralysis episodes, but knows they often get triggered if I write/read about sleep paralysis.Also me: Writes this fic, set during the early Queen days about Freddie having sleep paralysis, because I like to test the universe apparently.TW: Sleep paralysis, talking about it and descriptions of it as episodes are happening.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	In The Room Where You Sleep

“You were in my room!” 

“I was not!” Roger insisted. “You would have known if I was in your room, and I would know, yes? Well, I know I wasn’t there, so-” 

“Then who was?” Freddie asked. “Because someone was there, in my doorway-” 

“But you said the door wasn’t open, right?” Brian was in what could only be described as full scientist mode, trying to turn the problem into a solvable equation. “And you didn’t hear the door open, so how on earth would he have gotten in?” 

“And why do you presume it was Rog?” John added. 

“So it was you, not Roger?” Freddie accused. 

“No,” John chuckled. “Fred, relax. There was no one there.” 

Freddie looked wounded, and dropped onto the couch. “Fine. There was no one there, and there won’t be anyone there again tonight, even when I see them clear as day!” 

“Don’t pout,” Roger sighed. “I’m not saying you didn’t see something, but it wasn’t me!” 

“Not this again,” Brian muttered. “You’re agnostic, Roger, or something like it, you shouldn’t encourage this nonsense.” 

“And you don’t believe in ghosts at all?” Roger challenged him as he sat by Freddie on the couch, an arm around his shoulders. 

“What I believe isn’t what’s in question here,” Brian replied. “What’s in question is what Freddie keeps seeing. What it is, and why he’s seeing it. I’ll admit, it’s strange, but to jump to ghosts right away...” 

“Did I say that’s what I was jumping to?” Freddie scoffed. “I just want to know who it is, and ask that they stop. Considering there’s only four of us in this flat, and it can’t be me, that doesn’t leave many other options, now does it?” 

“It wasn’t any of us though,” Brian said. 

“And just like that, we’re back to ghosts,” John muttered. “So, if it is a ghost-” 

“You cannot be serious,” Brian interrupted, but that didn’t slow John down.

“What sort of ghost could it be?” John mused. “How old is this building; do we know?” 

“What if one of us stays in your room with you tonight?” Roger suggested. “Rather than two of us in the living room, and the other two with the rooms.” 

“You could just share with me all the time, like I’ve offered,” Freddie said. 

“That’s that then,” Roger smiled. “I’ll start sharing your room with you, and we’ll get to the bottom of this. If I see it too, and can determine it isn’t either of these two assholes-” 

“We’re right here,” John said. “Really?” 

But Roger kept on, as if John hadn’t said a word. “Then we’ll know we’re horribly haunted, at least in your room, and we’ll do a switch of rooms. Mr. I-Fear-No-Spirits over there can have yours, and we’ll take his, and John can have the couch all to himself!” 

“You make that sound like such a prize,” John scoffed. 

“It sort of is, you don’t have to worry about stepping on me if you get up in the middle of the night now!” Roger stressed. 

Brian raised his hands. “I wash my hands of this. Have fun ghost hunting if you want, but I’m going to bed. Freddie, it will be alright, really. Whatever is going on. Try and sleep well.” 

Freddie nodded, and that was his intent. 

But laying beside an already asleep Roger a few hours later, his eyes hurt from holding them open. 

He was plenty tired, but he wasn’t ready to see it again. Not that it had done anything bad, or anything at all. 

It was horribly unnerving though. A silhouette stood in the doorway, not moving, not talking, just...there. 

Watching, or so it felt. 

He had accused Roger, but truthfully, he didn’t really think it was him, or Brian or John. He wanted it to be, because that would have been easier. That would have made sense, and would have had a solution in telling them to fuck off with the practical joke and to stop creeping him out like that. 

He didn’t think it was a ghost either. Whether he believed in such things or not wasn’t even a factor in this particular case; he just somehow knew that wasn’t right. 

But then, that meant he had no other idea as to who or what it was, and why it showed up. Why it left him frozen in his bed, only able to watch. 

If he didn’t sleep, then it couldn’t happen again. That was the only logical solution, for now, even as his body screamed at him to rest. 

He managed it though. Flipping through Roger’s books that were littered in the room (as well as all over the flat, for that matter, but so were Brian’s, so it was only fair that Roger got to do the same.) When he bored of that, there were bits of his stage clothes that needed darning and other little fixes (a missing rhinestone here, a torn sequin there.) After that, it was onto sets of lyrics, mostly finished, but run through to see if there was anything he wanted to change (nothing, but at least he could say he’d done a read through of them now.) 

The sun was slow to rise, as was Roger, and it was nearly ten in the morning before Roger turned over to see him, and sighed. 

“You didn’t sleep, did you?” 

“That obvious?” Freddie asked.

“Yeah, actually,” Roger yawned and rubbed at his eyes. “You look like shit; either you’re sick or you didn’t sleep, or both.” 

Freddie rested his head against his knees, drawn up and close to his chest. 

“Did you see it again?” 

“No,” Freddie replied softly. 

“You should sleep now,” Roger suggested gently. “Sun’s out, we’re all awake. I am, at least. You sleep, I’ll read some, and that way if anything shows up, I’ll be awake to see it too.” 

He was hesitant, but Roger was a reassuring presence. Blonde hair illuminated by the sun drifting in through the drapes (he was the lucky one, with the room that had a window), science fiction novel in hand, leaned back against his pillow, soft smile on his face. 

He slept on his side, facing Roger. Or at least, that was how he had fallen asleep.

When his eyes shot open, or at least felt they did, he was on his back. 

And there it was, again. 

But now that he tried to get a good look at it...it didn’t really look like anyone. So it truly couldn’t be Roger, John, or Brian fucking with him. A ghost would surely have some sort of features, not that he would call his knowledge on that expert, but it seemed to make sense, and this thing had...nothing. 

Which made it all the worse as it stepped forward. 

He tried to turn his head to Roger, to lift a hand, finally to scream, but no luck. He couldn’t move, couldn’t make a sound, couldn’t do anything. 

And still, the thing approached, all shadowy edges flowing closer and closer, and the sound of a deep voice screaming hit his ears, coming from nowhere and everywhere all at once, as if the person screaming was right in his face, and there was no other sound but yet there was, terrible and discordant, and-

“Freddie!” 

Roger’s voice jolted him awake, nearly falling out of the bed to get away from thing thing, scrabbling over a confused and protesting Roger to the corner of the room. 

But when he turned, there was nothing there. The room was quiet aside from his own panting breaths. 

Roger looked utterly befuddled and concerned. “Are you okay? You were dead asleep, then you started-” 

Roger shook his head. “It was wild. Head shaking about, hanging onto the blanket like you trying to tear it up or something. I tried waking you, but you were out cold, then suddenly you’re climbing over me!” 

“You didn’t see it?” Freddie asked slowly, an eye still on the doorway. 

Roger shook his head. “Come back here, sit down. You look like you’re going to pass out or something.” 

He stumbled back around the bed, never turning his back to the doorway, before settling onto the bed. He let Roger gently pull him down, so his head was in Roger’s lap. 

Still, even as Roger played gently with his hair, clearly hoping to calm him, he kept an eye on the door. 

“You need decent sleep,” Roger said softly. “Do you want to try again?” 

He shook his head. He did, but he didn’t all the same. Not if he was going to have that happen again. 

Roger sighed. “What about on the couch? All of us will be out there, milling about.” 

“I don’t think that’s the issue,” Freddie replied. “It isn’t that I’m sleeping at the wrong time, or with not enough people around and awake to see it. I think it’s that I’m sleeping at all.” 

“Even so, you can’t just not sleep,” Roger said. “Try it, for me?” 

He let Roger lead him out of the bed and out of the room, though he couldn’t hide a wince at the doorway, as if they’d somehow walk through the thing that he’d been seeing at it. 

Roger waved away John and Brian’s questions, focusing on getting Freddie settled on the couch instead. 

Freddie could hear Roger starting to explain to them as he closed his eyes. Roger was right, he was painfully tired still. Maybe he would be right about this as well, and he would sleep fine so long as the others were nearby. 

\--

He had to have been sleeping the whole day, because when his eyes popped open again, it was dark. He’d hoped Roger might stay out with him, but the room seemed empty. 

He tried to turn his head to look to the floor, to see if Roger was there. 

His head wouldn’t turn. 

He told himself not to panic, but failed at it immediately. This wasn’t him waking up after a day of restful sleep, this was just another one of...whatever this was. For all he knew, he’d only been asleep five minutes, and the lads were going about their day, no idea of the private hell he was in. 

And it was on him. 

Heavy, hurting, featureless fingers digging into his arms as it leaned down, warm and panting despite the lack of a visible mouth. 

His instinct was to try and kick it off, but there was none of that to be done. It was like his legs were lead weights, or sewn to the fabric of the couch with the strongest thread. 

It felt more than mildly pointless to try and scream or shout, but he tried anyway. To get out any of their names, a cry for help, even just a wordless screech. 

Nothing. His lips and vocal chords had no interest in obeying him. 

So this was it. Just him, and this...thing. 

And no one to hear or see it. 

He wasn’t one to resign himself to misery, but this seemed like a rare case where he had little other choice. There was no way to signal to the others (if they were even anywhere near the couch) that he needed help. And this thing wasn’t going away, apparently. 

He tried to calm himself, but it was difficult, with the thing breathing warm at his neck. His muscles ached from the lack of movement, and his eyes teared up in part because of how upsetting the whole thing was, as well as how horrid it felt to have his eyes wrenched open as they were. 

Because he certainly wasn’t going to fucking close them, with the thing on him. 

After a bit longer, he found himself less and less scared, and more angry. 

What was this thing, to keep him from sleeping? To bother him like this? Ghost or whatever else, who even gave a shit? Why did it matter? The thing was an ass, and that was that. 

He was sick of it. 

So he tried to move again, fingers and toes, then limbs, finally just working to rock back and forth on the couch, in the hopes of throwing the thing off of him. 

\---

“Fucking hell!” Roger was by one side, Brian at the other, both of them lifting him up off of the floor. “What on earth was that about?” 

“What?” he asked blearily. “Did I fall off the couch?” 

“You threw yourself off of it,” Brian replied. “Rather violently.” 

“It was on me,” Freddie mumbled as they sat him up on the couch. “I was getting it off.” 

They knelt in front of him, joined by John, who looked concerned but had adorably carried his sandwich over with him. 

“Can you tell us more about it?” Brian asked. “Maybe we can figure this out, I mean, we have to. You can’t go on like this.” 

He described it, even as his head started to ache with a headache from the rough and interrupted sleep. The thing, and the feeling of being weighed down on his back, unable to move. 

“Oh!” Roger grinned. “I think I know what it is; you should have told us all that sooner!” 

He jumped up to one of the bookshelves, and moved books aside until he hauled out a dusty medical textbook. “See? It was like the only interesting part of this course-” 

“You say that about every course you took, that there was only one interesting part,” Brian interjected. 

“Yeah, well, there usually was only one interesting part, if that,” Roger continued. “Anyway. There was even a more recent study I found about this; people feeling like they’re stuck in bed, with things on them or watching them, or seeing and hearing weird shit. Has to do with the brain fucking up while you sleep, I think.” 

“Very medical and professional an explanation, Rog,” Brian chuckled. “But is this it, Fred?” 

He took the textbook from Roger, and read. It sounded right, all of it.

He nodded, and handed the book back. “I can’t decide if I’m happy to know what it is, or upset that it’s my own fucking head doing me in.” 

“Why not both?” John suggested in between a bite of his sandwich. “At least you know now, right?” 

“Yeah,” Freddie sighed. “Doesn’t solve it though.” 

“Sure it can,” Roger said. “Stress, sleeping on your back, having a bad sleep schedule, all that can cause it.” 

“Right,” Freddie said. “With all due respect, Roger dear, how do you think I can keep up being in a band if I’m to get rid of all stress, and fix my sleep schedule? The sleeping on my back, well, I’ve no fucking clue when I end up on my back, so that’s on me when I’m asleep, I guess.” 

“That...is a good point,” Roger said. “Well...I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out. Even if we have to schedule in nap times for you while we’re on tour.” 

“Oh christ,” Freddie giggled as Roger sat beside him, nearly in his lap. “The road crew will love that. Fucking hell, a lead singer that needs a nap schedule...” 

“Don’t knock it,” John said. “Sleep is important.” 

“Is that your way of telling us you plan to nap after you finish that?” Brian asked as he sat more comfortably on the floor. 

“Yup,” John nodded through another mouthful of sandwich. “And you all should too. Maybe you’d sleep better then, Freddie.” 

“Or it’s catching, and you’ll all end up with it too,” Freddie said.

“I don’t think it works that way,” Roger noted. “But that said...I almost wish it did. I want to see whatever the hell it is your mind is showing you.” 

“Group nap it is then,” John said triumphantly as he finished his sandwich. “We’ll push the couch aside and sleep on the floor?” 

“I didn’t necessarily agree to this,” Brian laughs. “I don’t think I need a nap.” 

“Sure you do,” John said, in a tone that suggested there would be no arguing. 

On the floor with all of them, fifteen minutes later, he did feel slightly more secure. 

Roger was cuddled up at one side of him, Brian at the other, and John tucked up by Roger’s other side. Pillows plenty had been dragged from beds and tossed onto the floor, along with blankets and a few bedsheets. It was about as warm and comfortable as one could ask for, in a random early-afternoon nap. 

But it didn’t stop the thing from showing up, seemingly as soon as he closed his eyes. Crouched on his chest, with that disgustingly warm breath so close to his face, fingers digging into him, as if they’d rend his flesh open. 

It was infuriating. He just wanted to sleep. Quiet, undisturbed, sleep. Was that asking for so fucking much? 

It was violent, this time, his attempts to move. Why not try his hardest, if his actual body outside of the dream/sleep state wouldn’t move anyway? 

“OI! ENOUGH!” 

He woke up with a jolt, heart beating out of his chest, and a clearly displeased Roger and Brian beside him. 

“Happened again?” Roger sighed, a hand covering one eye. 

Freddie bit back a gasp. “I didn’t.” 

Roger let his hand down to reveal a growing bruise over his eye. “I mean, it’s technically good. You broke yourself out of it, got yourself moving again.” 

“Really did a fucking number on us in the process though,” Brian muttered, rubbing at his head. “Folks should be grateful you aren’t a violent man, you know that?” 

“I’m so sorry,” Freddie pulled them both close in one-armed hugs. “Just tie me down to my bed from now on; do what you must.” 

“I’m alright,” John added cheerfully. “Not as long a nap as I had hoped, but lovely all the same.” 

It was probably an unnecessary addition, but it broke the tension perfectly. 

“We aren’t going to tie you down,” Brian laughed. 

“Not even if I ask you nicely?” Freddie asked sweetly.

“No,” Roger replied. “But we will figure this out. Get it to stop so you can sleep again. If it’s the last thing we do!” 

“Blood pact and quest it is,” John said authoritatively. “I’ll get a knife.” 

They laughed as he stood and trotted off to the kitchen.

“He’s joking, yeah?” Roger asked. 

Their laughter softened. 

Freddie bit his lip. “Probably?” 

“We should maybe let him know it’s going to be metaphorical...” Brian added. 

Before they could get up, he was back, with plates of biscuits. 

“Oh thank goodness,” Freddie murmured. 

“Did you lot think I was actually getting a knife?” John smirked. “I was obviously joking.” 

“It’s a little hard to tell, sometimes,” Brian admitted. “Shame we can’t get you into Freddie’s head for the next episode.” 

“Deaky threatening to get a knife might scare it off,” Freddie nodded. “Maybe if I think about that, when it happens.” 

“And if that doesn’t work,” Roger said in between a bite of biscuit. “Then we’ll keep thinking up things until something does work.” 

He could be certain of nothing else. If and when he would get decent sleep. If he was going to have this thing follow him on tour, every time he tried to rest in between shows. 

But he was certain that they meant it. They would help him find some way to make it stop, and they wouldn’t give up until it had. 


End file.
